


In Control

by blakefancier



Series: For Your Entertainment [11]
Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is progress! Steve is pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Control

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, man, this did *not* want to get onto paper. Or, um, onto my screen. You know what I mean! :D I am taking a slight hiatus from my usual series to work on something that's been niggling at my brain for the past few days. It looks like it's shaping up to be one of those sexually-charged, uncomfortable stories I always manage to want to write. This one is not completely my fault. My partner-in-crime has been demanding a Howard whumpage story for a while now. I'm finally going to try to give it to her.

Howard kneels on the bed and tries not to think, but he's never been very good at disengaging. His mind careens from one thought to another: the motorcycle he's working on, the drying mess on his torso, the soreness of his muscles, Steve's hands on his skin, the burst of panic he felt right before he blurted out his safeword.

His whole body tenses at the thought. No, no, he won't think about it. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. 

He thinks about soft kisses, Steve's fingers moving in and out of his body, urging Howard towards orgasm. Good, that's good. Think of that. Don't think of the failure. Don't think of the hurt that flashed across Steve's face when he said stall. 

Howard squeezes his eyes closed.

"I belong to Steve," he says. And he means it to be a declaration, a proud statement of fact, but it comes out a timorous whisper. So he says it louder, "I belong to Steve. I. B-Belong. To Steve."

It doesn't help the tension that runs through his body, making his heart pound in his chest and his breath come in heaving sobs.

He hurt Steve. He hurt his Dom. God, what if that was it? What if Steve decides Howard is too much trouble? What if—

The door opens and Howard lets out an audible gasp, his body jerking at the sound.

"Howard?" Steve stands in the doorway, a tray of food in his hands, and frowns.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." 

Steve sets the tray down, precariously, on the nightstand and lays a firm, gentle hand against the back of Howard's neck. He draws Howard forward, against his body, and strokes his hair. "Easy, easy now. What's going on? Why are you sorry?"

"I hurt you. Sir, I hurt you. I-I used… I shouldn't have used my safeword. I shouldn't… that was weak! That was…" That was a failure on his part, not Steve's.

"Hey, no." Steve grabbed a fistful of Howard's hair and pulled his head back so he had to look up. "Listen to me, Howard. And listen carefully. You use your safeword when you need it. There's nothing weak about having to use it. I'm glad you used did. I would have been upset if I had hurt you. I don't want to hurt you. You're mine. Say it."

"I'm yours," he says softly and Steve gently strokes his neck. Howard's body relaxes into the touch. "I'm yours."

"That's right. And I'll never be angry that you used your safeword. What is it, Howard? What's your safeword?"

He licks his lips and swallows. "Stall."

"That's right. Do you need to use it?"

"No." He lets his body relax into a slump of exhaustion.

"Good." Steve strokes his hair, then leans down to kiss his mouth. "You're so good, Howard. Do you know how proud I am of you? I'm so proud. My handsome, intelligent man."

"Genius," he says, his body trembling with… pride? Satisfaction? 

Steve laughs softly. "That's right, my genius. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, sir." And tired; he wants to curl into a ball and sleep.

"All right. Let me… I'll be right back." Steve walks into the bathroom and when he comes out, he's carrying a damp washcloth. He gently wipes Howard clean and urges him to sit back against the pillows. Then Steve sits down on the bed, putting the breakfast tray between them. "All they had left was eggs and toast."

Neither of which looks very appetizing, but he's hungry. He reaches for a plate, then stops. He's not sure if… if he's allowed… "Sir? May I?"

"What? Oh, yeah, of course. You don't have to wait for me unless I expressly tell you to." He smiles. "And I'm pretty sure you can manage to feed yourself. Unless… you want me to?"

"No," Howard says quickly, his face burning with embarrassment. God, no. He picks up a plate and begins shoveling food in his mouth. 

"Good. I gotta say, I'm not really comfortable with some of the things Peggy and Falsworth say I should do to you." Steve takes a bite of toast and looks thoughtfully at Howard. "I know there are rules to this but, honestly, Howard, I've never been much good with other people's rules. And I know that you haven't either. I thought we could make our own. "

Howard swallows the food in his mouth. "We?"

"Yeah. You're my sub, but that doesn't mean you're my property. I don't *own* you."

"But… it does, in a sense. You're my Dom, sir. Everything I own is yours." And, God, that stings a bit. He loves Stark Industries. *He,* not his father, built it up to be the multi-million dollar corporation that it is now. 

"Not according to any American laws." 

"No, sir. But that’s part of the bonding ceremony. All the sub's money and property is signed over to the Dom. You own Stark Industries now."

Steve snorts and rolls his eyes. "What would I do with it, Howard? I'm not a businessman and I don't want to be. It's yours. Keep it."

"You can't… you can't do that!" Then he stops because isn't that what people told him when he refused to be tested? When he refused to take part in Elite society? "You're going to make a lot of affluent people unhappy." 

"Am I making *you* unhappy, Howard?"

He stills for a moment, head tilted, and considers the question. Then he shakes his head.

"Words, Howard."

"No, sir." He stares down at his plate for a moment, then looks up. "Thank you, sir." 

"You're welcome. Now eat your breakfast. You're gonna need it." 

*****

After breakfast, Steve sets their dishes aside and stretches out on the bed. Howard settles next to him, curled against his chest. Steve plays with Howard's hair, strokes rough fingers against the nape of his neck and between his shoulder blades.

Howard murmurs softly against Steve's chest, he doesn't mean to—it's nothing Steve will understand, just some math formulas he's been working on—but he's warm and comfortable, his eyes drooping with exhaustion. Steve chuckles softly and lays his hand flat against Howard's back.

"I've got you," Steve says and some emotion he can't name blooms hot in Howard's belly. 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

*****

The next time he opens his eyes, it's several hours later. He can tell by the way his muscles twinge from being in one position for so long. Steve's hand is still pressed against his back and Howard lets out a little sigh.

"You're awake," Steve says.

Howard considers closing his eyes and trying for another hour but instead he lifts his head and looks into Steve's eyes. "Yes, sir."

Steve smiles at him, open and honest. It was the smile that first made Howard f—no, he lets his mind skitter away from that thought. "When you look at me like that, it reminds me of when I first stepped out of that capsule in Brooklyn." 

"Sir," he says, because he's not sure where Steve is going with this.

Steve brushes Howard's mouth with his thumb. "The way you looked at me just now, you looked at me like that then. Hungry. Like you wanted to eat me."

Howard's face goes hot with the memory.

"Did you, Howard? Want to eat me?" And Steve's amused, his fingers brushing over Howard's cheek.

"I wanted—" He swallows hard and takes a deep breath. "I wanted to… to… taste you." He remembers the lust that hit him then, how strong it was, how it left him breathless and aching.

"Well, now here's your chance." Steve touches Howard's mouth again. "You still want to taste me, don’t you, Howard."

He does, oh, God, he does: his mouth waters and his cock hardens at the thought. "Please," he whispers, his voice trembling. "Please, sir." 

"Yeah." Steve's voice is just as soft, just as unsteady. "Yeah, any way you want." Then he pushes Howard away long enough to get his shirt off, then he settles back.

Howard bites back a moan and splays his hand against the flat expanse of Steve's stomach feeling the muscles clench. He lets out a long, slow breath and straddles Steve's hips.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He can feel Steve's erection and he closes his eyes, presses down against it, feeling suddenly, unbearably empty.

"Howard," Steve says, his voice sharp. "Your mouth."

He nods and mutters a 'yes, sir.' Then he opens his eyes, leans over Steve, bracing his hands on the bed, and presses his mouth against Steve's collarbone. He holds it there for a moment, enjoying the feel of Steve's soft, warm skin against his lips. 

Steve threads his fingers through Howard's hair and gives a gentle tug.

Howard parts his lips and flicks out his tongue. Steve's taste—salt and skin and heat and *God*—fills his mouth and he moans, his fingers clenching the sheets because Steve tastes so good.

Of course he tastes good.

Howard closes his eyes, because he wants to concentrate on Steve's taste, and begins to lick and suck a sloppy trail down Steve's torso.

Steve is breathing hard, carding his fingers through Howard's hair, and murmuring broken words of encouragement. 

And Howard, Howard can't stop himself from making greedy sounds of pleasure: moans and grunts and little cries. He plays with a nipple when he finds one, nuzzling it to hardness before sucking on it, pulling a surprised 'ah' from Steve. But he doesn't linger there for very long; that's not where he wants to be. 

He moves lower, rubs his mouth against Steve's stomach, then licks a stripe across it; the hiss Steve makes when he does it makes pleasure slither down Howard's back. He remembers how slick and sweaty Steve had been. He remembers how his hands had slid across Steve's skin and how, later, he'd wanted to lick his fingers in hopes that a taste had lingered. 

But he can lick now. Lick and suck to his heart's content. Or at least until Steve urges him lower

And, oh, oh, God. He can—He can taste Steve *there* if he wants. He can fill his mouth with Steve. He presses his mouth against the skin just above Steve's waistband and pleads, "Please. Sir, *please.* Oh, please, please, please."

"Yeah," Steve says and now he's the one who sounds greedy. "Yeah, Howard. Go on, do it." 

Howard opens his eyes and reaches down with shaking hands to unbutton Steve's pants. It's one of the easiest things he's done so far, getting those buttons open. Then he curls his fingers into he waistband of Steve's trousers, and when Steve lifts his hips, he drags them down. 

Howard does the same with Steve's underwear, shivering at the wet sound of Steve's cock slapping against his belly. It's beautiful: long, thick, and rosy red, the tip wet.

He wants it in his mouth. He wants—he takes a deep, shuddering breath, wraps his hand around the base of Steve's… Steve's cock, and licks at the wetness. The bitterness of it fills his mouth and he moans.

Yes, God, yes. 

Steve tugs on his hair and says in a strained voice, "In your mouth. Careful... Be careful with your teeth." 

"Yeah," he breathes. He takes what he can into his mouth. It feels good. It feels right. He's filled with Steve's heat and he sucks and that's better. So he does again and again, sucking until Steve is moaning and tugging at Howard's hair, trying to get him to take more. 

He can't take more, not without choking, so he strokes what's not in his mouth and hums with satisfaction. Someday he'll take more. Someday he'll take it all. The idea thrills him and he sucks harder, more urgently, his hand moving frantically, wanting to thrill Steve too.

Then Steve makes a choked sound and tugs, painfully at his hair. "Howard! Howard, I—" 

Steve floods his mouth, bitter and slick, and he continues to suck, his face warm with satisfaction and pride, until Steve urges him to stop.

He looks at Steve, panting harshly, his jaw aching, his cock aching. "Sir," he says, and his voice is hoarse.

Steve smiles at him, pulls him up so that they're face to face, and reaches down to jerk him off. It's too much, it's too much, the taste of Steve in his mouth, the feel of Steve's hand on his cock. He gives a sharp cry and spills, curling against Steve's chest.

"That it," Steve whispers against his hair, "I got you. I got you, Howard."


End file.
